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WINGS   OF  YOUTH 

<By 

NANCY    BUCKLEY 


THE  CLOISTER  PRESS 

SAN    FRANCISCO 

1922 


COPYRIGHT    1922 
BY 

NANCY    BUCKLEY 
SAN    FRANCISCO 


"Youth  took  'wings  and  flitted  among  the  clouds  for 
the  'very  joy  of  being  freed  from  the  fetters  of  earth." 


4  ft  f  5  4  5 


FOREWORD 

IN  THIS  little  book,  "Wings  of  Youth,"  her 
second  collection  of  published  verses,  Nancy 
Buckley  has  sounded  the  tender  and  wistful 
and  also  the  joyous  note  of  the  young  heart.  The 
fact  that  her  first  book,  " Laughter  and  Longing," 
published  in  1921,  is  now  in  its  third  edition,  is  suf 
ficient  testimony  to  the  quality  of  her  verse  and  to 
the  cultured  discernment  of  Californians. 

A  mellower  tone  than  we  found  in  her  first  collec 
tion  distinguishes  most  of  the  verses  in  this  volume. 
It  shows  the  growth  she  has  made  in  an  earnest  pur 
suit  of  her  high  purpose,  and  the  wider  and  deeper 
range  of  powers  she  has  discovered  and  is  bringing 
forth. 

We  need  such  a  strong  and  wholesome  spirit  as 
hers.  It  will  inspire  hope  and  cheer  and  sane  striving 
against  the  devastating  forces  that  now,  more  than 
ever,  tend  to  drag  us  from  our  view  of  a  glorious  sun 
always  shining  in  the  sky. 

W.  C.  Morrow. 
San  Francisco,  November,  1922. 


Acknowledgement 


Acknowledgement  is  hereby  made  of  the  courtesy  of 
American  Poetry  Magazine,  The  Nomad,  Munsey's 
Magazine,  Argosy,  All-Story  Weekly,  The  Signet, 
The  Queen's  Work,  Social  Progress,  The  Magnificat, 
New  England  Homestead,  Education,  The  Calif - 
fornian,  Newman  Hall  Review,  Girlhood  Days  and 
Extension  for  permission  to  use  in  this  volume  poems 
originally  contributed  to  these  magazines. 


TO   MART  ELIZABETH 


CONTENTS 


Wings 15 

The  Singer  < 15 

Dreamers 17 

The  Little  Gypsy 18 

To  My  Friend 19 

The  Net 20 

Love's  Witchery 21 

My  Little  Window 22 

Homesick 23 

Gifts 24 

The  Interpreter 25 

The  Easter  Bell 26 

The  Little  Old  House 27 

My  Sweetest  Song 28 

Heart  0'  Mine 29 

Silver  Ships 30 

A  Gypsy1  s  Longing 31 

Candles 32 

A  Song  Without  Words 33 

Rendezvous 34 

For  Mary  Elizabeth's  Birthday 35 

Our  Lady  of  the  Flowers 35 

The  Best  Kind  of  a  Game       ...,.<.  37 

Life's  Snare 3g 

Little  Roads 39 

The  Secret  Room 40 

Cynthia  in  Her  Garden 41 


Gray  Eyes    .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .  42 

A  Little  Girl's  Garden 43 

The  Martyr       .     ................ 44-45 

Tryst ...............  46 

Enshrined    .      .      .      .      .      .  ,   ...........      .      .  47 

Macushla 48 

Three  Lovely  Things 49 

Immolation       . 50 

Dusk  in  a  Garden 51 

Regret 52 

House  0'  Dreams 53 

A  Song  of  Youth 54 

Idyl  in  a  Garden 55 

Nostalgia 56 

The  Vampire 57 

The  Enchanted  Land     .      .      .      .....      ...      .           .  58 

Paradox 59 

At   Night     ..............  60 

Haven    .      .      .      .      .  .  .      .      . 61 

By  an  Open  Window  in  June    .....      .      .      .      .      .62 

Maid  0'  Mine  .      ....      . 63 

My  Songs    ...      .......      . 64 

Life's  Garden 65 

The  Vendor  of  Dreams    .  .  .  .      . 66 

The  Piper    . 67 

Fulfillment  .      ............      ......      .      .      .  68 


WINCjS 

LOVE  has  wings  that  folded  lie 
Upon  my  heart  with  soft  caress, 
And  nevermore  they  care  to  fly 
From  my  heart's  tenderness. 

Love  has  wings,  they've  flown  away 
With  never  a  tear-drop  nor  a  sigh ; 
How  could  I  hope  for  them  to  stay, 
When  they  so  missed  the  sky? 


Page  Fifteen 


THE  SINGERS 

I  AM  but  a  singer, 
Yet  I  ever  dare 
Songs  to  send  like  arrows 
Quivering  through  the  air. 

Straight  and  swift  and  certain 
Flies  each  little  dart, 
Home  and  harbor  finding 
Within  your  dear  heart. 


Page  Sixteen 


CREAMERS 


DREAMERS  are  poor  as  poor  can  be, 
Without  a  cent  put  by; 
Theirs  is  the  wealth  of  sun  and  sea, 
And  rich-robed  earth  and  sky. 

And  all  their  own  the  silvery  moon, 

The  rainbow's  treasure  chest; 
Red  roses  in  the  heart  of  June, 

And  love  and  faith  and  rest. 


Page  Seventeen 


THE  LITTLE  GTPSY 

OH!  Nina  can  dance  with  a  gay  Spanish  dash, 
In  her  bright  scarlet  dress  with  broad  yellow  sash , 
And  black  curls  a-flying  and  eyes  dark  as  sloes, 
And  music's  soft  rhythm  in  her  little  toes. 

Oh!  Nina  can  sing  as  she  strums  her  guitar, 
And  sweet  songs  of  Seville  float  in  from  afar, 
The  melody  falls  from  her  soft  southern  tongue, 
And  birdlings  are  silent  till  her  song  is  sung. 

Oh!  Nina  can  play  on  her  wee  castinets, 

The  gay  tarantella  my  heart  ne'er  forgets, 

As  forth  on  the  highway  I  laughingly  fare, 

With  sweet  Nina  and  youth  and  love  everywhere. 


Page  Eighteen 


TO   ZMY  FRIEND 

YOU  are  my  friend.  Give  me  no  more 
Of  costly  gems  and  golden  store, 
For  these  are  not  the  things  I  prize — 
For  me  let  lovelight  fill  your  eyes, 
And  give  to  me  your  tenderness, 
Your  little  broken  words  that  bless 
And  bear  away  the  bitter  pain 
And  make  my  heart  look  up  again. 
Oh,  come  into  my  little  room 
Whene'er  descends  the  hour  of  gloom, 
And  let  your  love  a  candle  be 
To  bring  the  light  of  hope  to  me! 


Page  Nineteen 


THE 


I'M  weaving  a  silken  net  for  you, 
A  silken  net  so  fair; 
Forever  I'll  keep  you  all  my  own 
Safe  in  its  lovely  lair. 

I'll  snare  your  body  so  small  and  sweet 
From  all  life's  pain  and  harm, 
And  o'er  your  golden  head  I'll  throw 
The  magic  of  its  charm. 

And  fast  my  net  shall  wrap  you  round, 
I've  wrought  it  strong  and  well; 
Your  little  hands  alone  may  break 
Its  strong  and  shining  spell. 


Page  Twenty 


LOyS'S     WITCHERY 

EACH  day's  a  golden  hour  to  me, 
Since  I  can  walk  again  with  thee. 
The  sea  sings  sweetly  as  of  old, 
And  all  the  laughing  days  unfold 
Their  loveliness.    The  little  streams 
Go  drifting  by  like  fairy  dreams ; 
And  o'er  the  perfumed  face  of  Night 
Fall  misty  veils  of  silver  light. 
Glad  promise  gleams  in  morning  skies, 
And  dawns,  for  me,  in  your  dear  eyes; 
Each  day's  a  golden  hour  to  me 
Since  I  can  walk  again  with  thee. 


Page  Twenty-one 


LITTLE 


FROM  out  my  little  window  near  the  sky, 
I  watch  the  clouds  like  doves  go  wandering  by. 
I  hear  the  song  the  thrush  so  sweetly  sings, 
As  golden  arrows  flash  his  shining  wings. 
I  see  the  roses  full  in  scarlet  bloom, 
Their  scented  incense  fills  my  tiny  room, 
And  all  the  world  is  free  from  fretful  care, 
And  love  and  joy  and  youth  are  everywhere! 
I  feel  the  spell  the  twilight  softly  weaves, 
And  watch  the  moonlight  silver  all  the  leaves, 
Then  tender  dreams  of  life  so  sweet  a  part, 
Pass  through  my  little  window  to  my  heart. 


Page  Twenty-two 


HOMESICK 


THESE  city  streets  are  cold  and  gray, 
And  very  dim  and  dark; 
You  never  hear  throughout  the  day 
The  song  of  meadow  lark. 

And  hyacinths  you  never  find, 

Blossoming  white  and  blue; 
Not  in  the  city  streets  unkind 

Does  Springtime  come  to  you. 

These  city  streets  are  filled  with  strife, 
Of  fight  for  wealth  and  fame. 

Today  I'd  give  just  half  my  life 
To  hear  you  call  my  name. 


Page  Twenty-three 


GIFTS 

I  FAIN  would  give  you  golden  gifts, 
But  you  have  gold  more  rare, 
Since  your  Good  Fairy  gave  to  you 
A  crown  of  golden  hair. 

A  silver  trinket  then,  perhaps, 
Would  make  your  heart  rejoice, 
But  what  is  silver  to  a  maid 
With  such  a  silvery  voice? 

Or  would  a  gem  your  fancy  please? 
You've  plenty,  I  surmise, 
Your  lips  are  rubies,  rosy-hued, 
And  diamonds  bright,  your  eyes. 

Within  this  scented  garden  fair, 
A  precious  gift  I'll  seek, 
To  match  the  lily  of  your  throat, 
The  roses  in  your  cheek. 


Page  Twenty-four 


THE  INTERPRETER 

FOR  him  Life  lifts  her  veil  and  lets  him  see 
The  beauty  hid  beneath  the  mystery 
Of  sunset  glory  flaming  in  the  sky. 
And  every  gentle  breeze  that  passes  by 
Leaves  soft  caress  upon  his  dreaming  face, 
And  violets  from  the  depths  of  mossy  place 
Raise  trusting  eyes.    And  in  the  nights  of  June 
Resplendent  shines  for  him  a  friendly  moon. 


Page  Twenty-five 


THE   EASTER   WELL 

OVER  the  earth  there  gladly  fell 
The  song  of  many  a  golden  bell ; 
Far  and  near  came  the  joyous  chime 
That  heralded  the  Easter  time. 
So  loud,  so  clear,  its  music  rang 
As  sweet  as  if  an  Angel  sang: 
"Lo!    Death  and  Darkness  both  have  fled 
Since  Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead." 
O!  little  bell,  tell  wind  and  wave 
That  Love  has  triumphed  o'er  the  grave. 
Fill  all  the  earth  with  joyous  strain; 
Ring  out,  sweet  bell,  again — again! 


Page  Twenty-six 


THS  LITTie  OLD   HOUSS 

AROUND  the  door  red  roses  grow, 
And  as  the  soft  June  breezes  blow, 
Shy  little  dreams  from  petals  creep 
And  mystic  tryst  with  memory  keep. 

They  let  their  tiny  fingers  rest 
Upon  the  old  wall's  broken  crest, 
They  lift  their  little  faces  high 
As  if  to  touch  the  clear  blue  sky. 

They  try  to  ease  the  bitter  smart, 
That  lives  within  the  broken  heart 
Of  the  sad  house,  so  brown  and  old, 
That  'neath  the  flaming  sun  is  cold. 

Shy  little  dreams — your  labor's  vain; 
The  little  house  won't  smile  again. 


Page  Twenty-seven 


SWEETEST    SONG 


MY  SWEETEST  song  was  stilled 
Alas!  by  your  own  hand, 
The  day  you  sailed  away 
To  a  far  distant  land. 

My  sweetest  song  was  filled 
With  notes  of  keenest  pain  ; 
My  thoughts  were  of  primroses 
Along  an  Irish  lane. 

My  sweetest  song  is  filled 
With  joy-notes  strong  and  clear; 
My  thoughts  are  all  of  roses, 
For  you  at  last  are  here! 


Page  Twenty-eight 


HS AR T    O  '  MINE 


WHY  are  you  sad,  oh!  heart  o'  mine? 
Is  the  load  heavy,  or  day  too  long? 
Now  that  the  sun  has  ceased  to  shine, 
Have  you  forgot  your  song? 

You  must  be  glad,  oh!  heart  o'  mine, 
And  bright  and  gay  through  pain  and  wrong, 
And  when  your  spirits  begin  to  pine, 
Must  sing  your  sweetest  song. 


Page  Twenty-nine 


SILVER  SHITS 

I  SIT  beside  a  sapphire  sea, 
And  watch  my  ships  come  home  to  me, 
And  all  the  world  is  bright  with  flame, 
Answering  my  joyous  heart's  acclaim. 

Their  sails  are  made  of  pale  white  mist, 
By  beams  of  morning  softly  kissed ; 
Their  freight  is  dreams,  a  precious  store, 
Gathered  upon  some  shining  shore. 

Come,  little  ships  of  silver  hue, 
Bring  me  fond  hopes  and  visions  new, 
Bring  me  the  dreams  I  lost  one  day, 
When  my  Beloved  went  far  away. 


Page  Thirty 


LONGING 


I'M  HEARING  the  words  that  you  whisper  so  slow, 
The  soft  words  of  love  that  are  tender  and  low  , 
But  oh!  my  wild  heart  is  a-roaming  the  dale- 
My  wild  gypsy  heart,  that  cares  not  for  love's  tale. 

I'm  seeing  your  eyes  and  the  promise  they  hold 
Of  the  wealth  of  the  world  and  the  glitter  of  gold, 
But  oh!  my  wet  eyes  that  are  straining  to  see 
The  hills  of  the  gypsies,  the  hills  of  the  free! 

I'm  touching  your  lips  all  aflame  with  desire, 
And  my  heart  is  a-pulsing  so  close  to  the  fire  — 
But  oh!  'tis  the  hills  that  I'm  wanting,  my  dear, 
The  hills  where  I  wandered  that  spring  of  the  year. 


Page  Thirty-one 


CcANVLES 

THERE  is  a  shrine  within  my  heart, 
Where  two  small  candles  burn, 
And  when  the  day's  last  beams  depart, 
To  their  bright  light  I  turn. 

One  candle  is  your  love  for  me, 

And  one  my  love  for  you ; 
Your  love  is  strong  as  the  mighty  sea, 

And  mine  is  deep  and  true. 

The  little  candles  ever  glow, 

At  dusk  or  morn  the  same, 
And  up  their  bright  flames  quickly  go, 

When  each  speaks  the  other's  name. 


Page  Thirty-two 


c4  SONG  WITHOUT  WORDS 

THERE  is  a  song  within  my  heart, 
A  song  I  long  to  sing, 
But  all  the  labor  on  my  part 
No  fitting  words  can  bring. 

Yet  all  the  calm  and  quiet  trees, 
Sing  it  throughout  the  day, 
And  all  its  tender  harmonies 
On  breezes  float  away. 

And  from  the  throat  of  every  bird, 
Asway  above  his  nest, 
The  music  of  my  song  is  heard, 
The  song  within  my  breast. 


Page  Thirty-three 


RENDEZVOUS 

I'LL  surely  come  some  happy  day 
To  our  loved  rendezvous, 
Nor  time  nor  space  can  keep  away 
My  longing  heart  from  you. 

It  may  be  in  the  crowded  street, 
Where  Life  goes  on  apace, 
But  I  shall  know  you  when  we  meet 
And  smile  into  your  face. 

It  may  be  in  the  hush  of  night, 
I'll  see  your  loveliness; 
My  heart  will  run  like  winged  light, 
To  meet  your  sweet  caress. 

Nor  life  nor  death  can  keep  away 
My  longing  heart  from  you ; 
Sometime — I'll  come — perhaps  today 
To  our  loved  rendezvous. 


Page  Thirty-four 


FOR  ZMARY  ELIZAWSTH'S  BIRTHDAY 


IF  I  but  knew  just  how  to  say 
The  thoughts  that  fill  my  heart  today, 
I'd  write  a  sonnet  fine  and  grand, 
And  put  it  in  your  little  hand. 

If  I  but  knew  just  how  to  sing 
Of  Youth  on  happy  shining  wing, 
I'd  sing  a  song  for  you  to  hear 
And  trill  it  to  your  little  ear. 

If  I  but  knew  just  how  to  show 
My  love  for  you  through  weal  and  woe, 
I'd  take  my  soul — the  better  part, 
And  place  it  in  your  little  heart. 


Page  Thirty-five 


OU^LADY  OF  TH6  FLOWSRS 


THE  glory  of  the  Spring  is  falling  o'er 
The  ye  ar.  The  silver-throated  songsters  pour 
Their  bursting  hearts  in  sweetest  melody 
That  thrills  the  raptured  air  to  ecstacy. 
And  at  our  Lady's  shrine,  the  lily  fair 
Lifts  her  pure  face,  a  gentle  nun  at  prayer; 
And  near  her  is  the  rose  in  glad  array 
Of  splendid  scarlet  satin,  bright  and  gay. 
Wee  violets,  the  blue  of  summer  skies, 
Their  loving  hearts  a-tremble  in  their  eyes, 
Look  up  at  Mary  and  with  smiles  so  sweet, 
They  lay  their  lives  as  offerings  at  her  feet. 


Page  Thirty-six 


THE  B6ST  KIND  OF  A  GAMS 


LET'S  play  that  the  whole  world  is  shining, 
And  filled  with  gay  laughter  so  bright; 
With  never  a  word  of  repining 
From  morning  to  star-covered  night. 

Let's  play  that  the  rose's  red  beauty, 
Is  filling  the  land  with  perfume, 
Let's  find  that  there's  pleasure  in  duty, 
And  nothing  but  heartache  in  gloom. 

Let's  play  that  the  blithe  birds  are  flinging 
Their  happiness  all  through  the  air, 
Let's  play  that  our  life's  full  of  singing 
With  hope  and  soft  love  everywhere. 


Page  Thirty-seven 


HFS'S 


LIFE  offered  treasure  rich  to  me, 
Soft  gleaming  pearls  from  the  Orient  sea, 
And  worldly  fame  —  and  beauty's  dower, 
With  golden  wealth  and  place  and  power. 

With  eager  hands  I  took  the  store 
Of  Life's  fair  gifts  and  begged  for  more; 
Then  found  too  late  with  bitter  dole 
They  forged  gold  fetters  for  my  soul. 


Page  Thirty-eight 


LITTLS 


SOMETIMES  I  walk  on  a  little  white  road 
That  leads  through  the  fair  heart  of  June, 
And  Joy  holds  my  hand  as  I  saunter  along, 
And  eventide  comes  all  too  soon. 

Sometimes  I  walk  on  a  little  gray  road, 
That  leads  to  a  dull  sullen  sea, 
And  my  heart  is  a  bitter  and  burdensome  thing, 
For  Grief  makes  the  journey  with  me. 


Page  Thirty-nine 


THE  SECRET 


I  HAVE  a  room  within  my  heart 
Where  all  my  memories  are, 
Small  honored  guests,  these  little  dreams 
That  come  from  near  and  far. 

When  I  am  sad  I  enter  in 
And  meet  your  loving  smile 
That  made  my  joy  and  happiness, 
For  such  a  little  while. 

And  in  the  little  room  I  light 
The  lamp  of  deathless  love, 
And  all  my  sorrow  quickly  goes, 
Like  flight  of  swiftest  dove. 


Page  Forty 


CYNTHIA  IN  HER   GARVSN 

SHE  touches  with  white  hands  the  flowers  fair, 
And  they  look  up  and  smile  to  see  her  there, 
And  softly  breathe  a  shy  yet  warm  caress, 
Upon  the  airy  brightness  of  her  dress. 

Then  tender  dreams  that  in  old  gardens  bide 
Come  eagerly  swift-thronging  to  her  side, 
She  mothers  them — her  precious  treasure-trove, 
Till,  creeping  in  her  heart,  they  kindle  love. 


Page  Forty-one 


GRAY  EY£S 

I  DO  not  care  for  eyes  of  blue, 
Though  warm  they  are,  and  pure,  and  true; 
Nor  eyes  of  brown,  so  soft  and  deep, 
Where  tender  dreams  and  fancies  sleep. 

I  care  not  for  black  eyes  that  flash, 
And  all  one's  dear  hopes  rudely  dash ; 
That  laugh  and  dance  and  mock  and  tease, 
Invoking  mischief  as  they  please. 

But,  oh,  I  yearn  for  eyes  of  gray! 
So  calm  and  sweet  and  softly  gay, 
Such  dear  gray  eyes  as,  long  ago, 
For  me  made  heaven  here  below. 


Page  Forty-two 


zA  LITTLE   GIRL'S   GARDEN 

I  HAVE  a  little  garden  fair, 
With  soft  dreams  floating  everywhere, 
Filled  with  tall  lilies,  gold  and  white, 
Shy  violets  and  roses  bright. 

I  listen  to  the  drowsy  rhyme 
The  river  makes  in  summer-time; 
I  lie  upon  the  grass  so  cool 
Beside  a  quiet  little  pool. 

I  dream  I  am  a  princess  grand, 
The  greatest  lady  in  the  land, 
Bright  jewels  on  my  fingers  shine, 
And  golden  wealth  untold  is  mine. 

I  dream  I  am  a  fairy  small, 

Who  never  wants  to  grow  at  all, 

Who  plays  all  through  the  happy  hours 

With  dancing  leaves  and  laughing  flowers. 


Page  Forty-three 


THE   ^MARTYR 

THE  sun  hangs  high  in  Heaven,  darting  down 
The  glory  of  a  springtime  on  the  town, 
The  splendid  beauty  of  the  opening  rose, 
The  promised  wealth  of  music  in  some  close 
Full  throated  warblers  pour  unto  the  sky 
A  very  incense-cloud  of  harmony. 
The  games  will  be  anon  and  eager  feet 
Hasten  from  every  way  and  every  street 
Pours  down  its  tide  with  never  ceasing  flow — 
Where  stands  the  Coliseum  vast  below. 
Lo!  Lo!  today,  even  today,  glad  hands 
Will  loose  the  fretful  tiger  from  his  bands, 
And  fling  unto  the  lions  with  a  cry, 
The  few  who  worship  Christ,  and  hence  must  die. 
A  voice  is  heard:  "To  us  Pancratius  yield!" 
Then  the  gates  fall,  and  on  the  sandy  field 
Stands  forth  the  very  flower  of  Youth,  as  fair 
As  when  at  night  unto  the  raptured  air 
Some  lily  breathes  its  ardent  soul  and  dies, 
At  joy  of  death  wrapt  in  high  ecstacies. 


Page  Forty-four 


"Ah!  Emperor,  master,  Christ  is  mine  and  I 

Am  Christ's.    Your  sovereign  mandate  bids  me  die 

Your  gods  are  Rome's,  Christ  mine,  and  therefor 

falls 

Thy  wrath  upon  me.    Lo!    'tis  joy.    All  palls 
When  matched  with  it,  and  seems  but  tears, 
But  tears  and  a  legion  of  broad,  phantom  fears." 
"The   panther" — wakes   a   voice — "he   comes,    he 

springs!" 

Then  with  the  mounting  shriek  that  fiercely  rings 
They  watch  the  panther  move  across  the  space, 
They  watch  the  smile  upon  the  boyish  face- 
Then  in  a  brilliant  glare  of  light  they  see 
Him,  and  his  Christ  triumph  eternally. 


Page  Forty-five 


WHEN  evening  fires  are  burning  low, 
Into  my  room  I  softly  go; 
In  this  sweet  hour  I  love  the  most, 
To  tender  dreams  I  am  the  host. 

Close  to  my  chair  each  loved  one  stands; 
I  feel  the  clasp  of  friendly  hands; 
I  hear  the  breathing  of  their  sighs, 
And  see  the  smile  within  their  eyes. 

The  night  without  is  gray  and  old, 
And  all  my  heart  is  bitter  cold; 
'Tis  then,  fair  dreams,  I  miss  you  so, 
You  and  the  hour  when  fires  are  low. 

The  world  is  full  of  foolish  things; 
Its  siren  voice  forever  sings. 
Dear  dreams  of  love,  be  with  me  yet, 
Lest  I  your  sweetness  all  forget. 


Page  Forty-six 


JUST  now  the  firelight  painted 
A  picture  on  my  wall  ; 
A  picture  of  my  sweetheart, 
So  dazzling  fair,  and  tall. 

And  then  the  shadows  entered, 
And  bade  my  dream  depart; 
I  straightway  put  the  picture 
Within  my  eager  heart. 


Page  Forty-seven 


MACUSHLA 

YOUR  lips  are  fair  beguilin' 
As  they  sing  a  happy  tune, 
Your  eyes  are  always  smilin' 
Like  the  sunny  skies  in  June. 

Your  hair  all  bright  and  shinin' 
Is  made  of  fairy  gold, 
It  sets  my  heart  a-pinin' 
To  own  its  wealth  untold. 

But  oh!  your  love,  Macushla, 
Your  love  so  fond  and  true, 
'Twas  God  above,  Macushla, 
Made  the  Irish  heart  of  you! 


Page  Forty-eight 


LOVELY   THINGS 


I  SAW  three  lovely  things  today, 
At  morn,  a  little  child  at  play, 
Her  hair  a  net  that  caught  the  sun 
And  held  its  gold  till  day  was  done. 

At  noon,  I  saw  a  boy  aflame 
With  glowing  dreams  of  love  and  fame  ; 
His  eager  heart  bridged  o'er  the  years, 
And  felt  their  joy  —  but  not  their  tears. 

I  saw  a  toil-worn  man  at  night, 
Come  to  a  little  home,  alight 
With  sweet  content  ;  upon  the  stair 
Wife  and  child  were  waiting  there. 

There  came  three  lovely  things  my  way, 
At  morn,  at  noon,  at  close  of  day, 
And  each  one  brought  a  gift  to  me 
To  store  within  my  memory. 


Page  Forty-nine 


IMMOLATIO^ 

NOT  for  the  martyr's  crown 
I  pray,  dear  Lord, 
Not  for  the  quick  fierce  death 
By  heathen  sword. 
Not  for  the  battle's  cease, 
The  victory  won, 
Not  for  the  long  cool  rest 
At  set  of  sun. 
But  still  the  lonely  life 
From  all  apart, 
But  still  the  gnawing  pain 
Of  bruised  heart. 
But  still  upon  the  cross 
For  love  of  Thee, 
Until  at  last,  at  last, 
Thy  Face  I  see. 


Page  Fifty 


<DUSK  IN  cA  GARDEN 

I  FEEL  the  breath  of  summer  air, 
I  hear  a  whispered  message  there 
And  raise  my  eyes,  in  awe,  to  see 
The  soul  of  Night  unveiled  for  me. 


Page  Fifty-one 


BANISHED  you  with  jesting 
_   That  heeded  not  your  fears, 
I  turned  to  love  and  laughter 
And  found  no  place  for  tears. 


I 


Now  that  you're  gone,  I'm  wiser, 
I  seek  you  everywhere, 
My  eyes  are  wet  with  weeping 
And  life's  no  longer  fair. 


Page  Fifty-two 


THE  HOUSE   O  "DREAMS 

OVER  the  river  upon  the  hill 
Is  a  little  brown  house,  fast-shut  and  still 
Around  it  circle  sighing  trees 
That  whisper  a  plaint  to  the  passing  breeze, 
And  over  it  trailing  shadows  go 
In  endless  search  for  flowers  a-blow. 

Over  the  river  upon  the  hill, 
When  starry  night  is  cool  and  still, 
Then  comes  a  dream  of  days  of  old — 
A  dream  of  love  too  long  untold. 
My  heart  runs  vainly  to  the  door 
Of  the  little  house  on  the  misty  shore. 


Page  Fifty-three 


oA  SONQ  OF  YOUTH 

LIFE  calls  me  out  on  the  sunlit  road, 
Out  where  the  winds  blow  free, 
There's  never  a  sorrow  in  my  light  load 
Nor  a  care  in  the  heart  of  me. 

And  I'll  drink  my  fill  of  red  romance — 
Of  love  and  laughter  gay — 
And  along  with  me  will  the  lassies  dance 
To  the  lilt  of  a  rondelay. 

And  when  the  moon  o'er  the  shining  trail 
Casts  a  veil  of  silver  light, 
We'll  charter  a  ship  of  dreams  and  sail 
Away  on  the  sea  of  night. 


Page  Fifty-four 


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SOMETIMES  I  laugh  and  sing 
To  hide  my  fears — 
My  heart  a  haunted  thing 
Abrim  with  tears. 

Sometimes  I  softly  weep, 
For  joy  is  mine, 
And  Love  keeps  vigil  sweet- 
My  heart  his  shrine. 


Page  Fifty-nine 


SLEEP'S  gentle  fingers  draw  me  to  her  feet 
And  soon  she  gives  me  dreams  so  bright  and 
sweet, 

To  hold  within  my  hands  and  taste  their  joy, 
And  find  their  gold  is  all  without  alloy. 

And  then  she  hides  me  'neath  her  purple  dress, 
Then  come  her  lips,  my  own  to  gently  bless, 
And  in  my  ears  soft  rings  the  elfin  call 
That  bids  the  heavy  wings  of  rest  to  fall. 


Page  Sixty 


HAVEN 

OH!  for  the  peace  of  a  tiny  farm, 
And  a  path  that  climbs  a  hill ; 
And  your  dear  voice,  potent  charm, 
Singing  the  love  songs  still. 

Oh!  for  a  home,  sweetheart  o'mine, 
By  meadow  and  winding  lane, 
And  sweet  wet  violets  that  shine 
With  glint  of  April  rain. 

Today  I  glimpse  through  door  of  dreams, 
This  haven  of  the  heart; 
E'en  fancied  joy  has  power,  it  seems, 
To  heal  the  bitter  smart. 


Page  Sixty-one 


By  AN  OPEN  WINDOW  IN  JUNE 

HOW  sweet  is  the  fragrance  that  perfumes  the  air, 
The  wealth  of  red  roses  abloom  everywhere; 
The  skies  of  bright  sapphire  are  all  bending  low 
Above  the  sweet  earth  where  the  soft  breezes  blow. 

And  there,  past  the  hills,  is  the  smile  of  the  sea, 
And  the  little  worn  path  that  led  you  to  me. 
The  heart  in  my  breast  is  calling  your  name 
As  it  called  it  so  softly  the  first  day  you  came. 

The  roses  are  lonely — they're  drooping  today — 
For  June  isn't  June,  because  you're  away; 
Come  back!    Ah,  Macushla,  you  answer  no  word, 
Out  there  in  the  din  my  heart  isn't  heard! 


Page  Sixty-two 


ZMAID   O'ZMINE 

DEAR  little  maid  with  eyes  of  blue, 
You  bring  such  lovely  gifts  with  you 
Your  golden  dreams  undimmed  by  care — 
Your  love — your  faith  so  sweet  and  rare. 

Dancing  along  through  merry  hours, 
Heeding  not  the  passing  showers, 
You  sing  in  voice  of  gentle  tone 
The  softest  winds  have  made  their  own. 

You  bring  me  dreams  of  tender  things, 
Of  butterflies  and  flashing  wings, 
Of  days  that  hold  the  kiss  of  June, 
Of  nights  lit  by  a  baby  moon 

Of  little  saints  with  folded  hands, 
Of  gardens  where  the  lily  stands, 
Of  meadows  silvered  o'er  with  dew — 
These  are  the  dreams  you  bring  with  you. 


Page  Sixty-three 


MY 


I  SPIN  my  songs  from  sun  to  sun, 
And  fleetly  weave  my  dreams 
And  yet  my  work  is  never  done, 
But  just  begun,  it  seems. 

For  every  morn,  the  golden  rays 
Of  sun  come  through  the  trees, 
And  evernew  the  moonlight  strays 
Upon  the  sapphire  seas. 

All  through  the  day  I  see  your  eyes, 
So  sweet  and  soft  and  clear, 
And  in  the  night,  in  swift  surprise, 
I  hear  your  voice  so  dear. 

So  ever  I  spin  my  little  song, 
And  weave  my  dream  so  true, 
For  every  hour  that  speeds  along 
Brings  new  sweet  thoughts  of  you. 


Page  Sixty-four 


LIFE'S  gARDEN 

I  WALKED  in  a  lovely  garden, 
All  filled  with  flowers  rare, 
And  I  wanted  just  one  blossom, 
A  red  rose  growing  there. 

But  so  tall  it  grew  and  stately, 
So  high  above  my  head 
That  I  could  never  reach  it, 
My  rose  so  sweet  and  red. 

Ah!  what  is  a  lovely  garden 
If  my  heart  has  no  repose? 
And  what  are  all  splendid  flowers, 
If  I  cannot  reach  my  rose? 


Page  Sixty-five 


THE  VENDOR  OF  ^DREAMS 

I'VE  dreams  to  sell — fair  dreams  and  bright — 
Wrapped  up  in  silver  lace, 
And  they  will  fill  your  heart  with  light 
And  smile  into  your  face. 

I've  dreams  of  Spring — of  happy  Spring — 
When  hearts  beat  brave  and  high, 
I've  dreams  all  caught  in  a  golden  ring 
And  hid  in  a  roguish  eye. 

Would  you  like  a  dream  of  wee  sweet  lips, 
Or  a  dream  of  a  night  in  June? 
Perchance  a  dream  of  treasure  ships 
A-sail  'neath  a  silver  moon? 

Come  buy,  come  buy  .  ..  I'm  on  my  way, 
I  care  not  for  your  gold, 
I  sell  my  dreams  for  a  smile  so  gay, 
Or  a  heart  that  ne'er  grows  old. 


Page  Sixty-six 


THE  VIPER 

OH!  LIFE  was  piping  on  flute  of  gold, 
And  I  followed  him  fast  along, 
And  my  heart  was  pulsing  brave  and  bold, 
As  it  sang  a  gay  gypsy  song. 

Oh!  Love  was  calling,  for  it  was  Spring, 
And  I  heard  his  eager  cry, 
And  forth  I  fared  me,  adventuring 
Under  the  tender  blue  sky. 

Oh!  we  three  went  dancing  along  the  way, 
As  Life  piped  his  maddest  tune, 
And  then,  at  the  close  of  the  golden  day, 
We  dreamt  'neath  the  smiling  moon. 


Page  Sixty-seven 


FULFILLMENT 


THE  ardent  sun  with  laughter  gay 
Kissed  the  modest  dawn. 
And  ere  had  come  the  blush  of  day 
A  rose  was  born! 

Joy  dwelt  within  the  poet's  heart, 
Like  a  captive  bird, 
When  Sorrow  tore  the  bars  apart, 
A  song  was  heard! 

Youth  gave  the  cup  of  Life  to  me, 
I  saw  its  jewels  shine, 
I  drained  it,  oh,  so  eagerly, 
And  Love  was  mine! 


Page  Sixty-eight 


Tb 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


